


House Rules

by MdeCarabas



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Pining, unrequited Kimball/Carolina, unrequited Tucker/Wash, unrequited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:10:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MdeCarabas/pseuds/MdeCarabas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kimball and Tucker learn to take comfort in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	House Rules

"So… poker night."

"Poker night?" she repeats in surprise, "Whose idea was that?"

Tucker stretches out in the spare office chair she has set out for when she has meetings with people she actually likes. Others, like Doyle, never get to see the inside of the room; instead, they suffer through meetings in The War Room and Communications—rooms where the chairs are so hard that no one in their right mind would stick around longer than necessary.

"I don't know," Tucker says with a shrug, "Wash's, I think, or maybe Carolina's." At her look of perfectly reasonable surprise, he continues, "Apparently them and their old freelancer buddies used to have a poker night once a week."

"And now they're thinking about starting it up again."

"Yeah," Tucker says, "And we wanted to make sure that you were invited."

"We?" Kimball asks. Against her will her interest is sparked. She's not as close to the others as she is to Tucker, so she can't imagine who else would have wanted to include her into their close-knit group.

"You know… me and everyone else," he explains, "I think Carolina wanted to invite you so there was another girl around."

"Woman," she corrects absentmindedly. Her thoughts race for a moment as she contemplates that answer, frantically making up meanings to something that could only be meaningless. "I suppose I could make it."

Tucker suddenly smiles. It's startling to see in a strange sort of way; it's not that Tucker is rarely happy around her, just that he rarely seems so carefree. "Cool," he says and then continues to sit there watching her, waiting for what she doesn't know.

"Is there something else?" Kimball asks.

"Yeah," Tucker says. He stops, then wrinkles his nose up like a little kid. "So, Wash wanted me to convince you to give Doyle another chance, but I heard from Grif and Simmons that he's kinda acting like a dick, so I don't know. I think you should tell him to go fuck himself."

"I already have," Kimball says without thinking.

Tucker does a double take and then bursts out laughing. "Are you fucking serious?" he asks with a grin on his face you could see for miles, "Holy shit, that's awesome! What brought it on?"

She tries to prevent her lips from curling up like they want to, but her pride and amusement in her own actions are making it nearly impossible. "He called me Miss Kimball one too many times."

Tucker snorts. "I bet you've been holding that in for awhile."

"You have no idea."

They smile at each other conspiratorially. For a moment she lets herself forget all the problems of the world: the situation with Charon Industries, the ever-looming threat of Felix and Locus, and all the problems between two armies who eschew any kind of cohesiveness. But then comes a familiar knock on the door, wiping the smile off her face.

Kimball sits up straight in her chair. "Come in."

Her clerk walks through the door hesitantly, wincing when she sees Tucker sitting there. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, General Kimball, but General Doyle would like to have a word with you."

Kimball resists the urge to make a face only because Tucker does it for her. "Thank you," she replies with a nod, "Tell him that I'll meet him in The War Room in fifteen."

"Yes, ma'am."

Kimball waits until the door closes again to turn back to Tucker. "Guess I better get going," he says before she can speak. He gets up and stretches for a second, then walks over to the door and opens it, pausing in the doorway to look back at her. "The game's gonna be held at Wash's room at eight. Do you know where it's at?"

"No, but my clerk can find out for me."

Tucker nods. "Okay, cool. So I'll see you there." He waves goodbye to her and shuts the door behind him as he goes, leaving her behind with a stack of papers that she's suddenly sick of looking at and the knowledge that she's got a meeting with Doyle in just a few short minutes.

Kimball sighs.

At least the end of her day is looking up.

  
Kimball shows up at Washington's room at exactly 2000 hours. There's nothing differentiating it from any other room, but she trusts her clerk to give her the right information. Besides, she can hear the sound of multiple people talking inside, so she's relatively sure she has the right place.

Kimball knocks twice and waits for a response.

The door flies open a moment later, showing Tucker standing on the other side. "Dude, don't you know that only nerds show up on time for things?" he says as he leads her into the room, closing the door behind her, "The only thing worse than that is showing up early."

He nods across the room at Simmons as if in example, who gives him a look of indignation in response. "It's polite to show up early in case the host needs help setting up!"

"Yeah, Wash really needed help setting up two tables," Tucker says sarcastically, "I don't know how he would have handled that without you."

Simmons scowls. "Oh, shut up, Tucker! You were here early too!"

Tucker's back straightens at the accusation. "That's different!" he replies, "Wash and I were already hanging out before poker night started!"

"Where is Agent Washington, anyway?" Kimball cuts in before the argument can get out of hand. She's seen the way their group bickers with each other; they can and have gone for hours if no one gets them to focus.

Tucker looks back at her in surprise, almost as though he forgot she was here. "What? Oh, yeah," he answers," He went to go find Caboose. He went missing around lunchtime and nobody's seen him since."

Kimball frowns. "I could send a search party after him."

"Pshh, don't bother," Tucker says, "The only reason he went missing is because I said I'd play hide and seek with him. Wash'll probably find him hiding in a refrigerator somewhere."

"I...see," Kimball says slowly, "So aside from those two, who else is coming tonight?"

"Just Grif, Carolina and Church," Simmons says, "Sarge and Donut were invited, but Sarge refuses to collaborate with the blues and Donut's having a Girl's Night In with Jensen and her friends."

"Yeah, well, good thing they're not coming," Tucker adds as he flops down into the nearest chair. He motions for her to take a seat, casually kicking out the chair next to him. "Or we would've needed another table."

Kimball sits in the chair her chose for her, placing her right in front of Simmons at the makeshift table, which is really just two card tables pushed together and covered with a piece of cardboard that somebody has spray-painted green. Even with two tables, the fit is tight and Kimball can feel Tucker's knee knocking against her's.

Surprisingly, it's not uncomfortable.

She thought it would be, sitting with them. She even prepared herself for it earlier when she was getting dressed in her civvies before she showed up. Kimball told herself that it would be fine if it originally felt awkward to interact with them in a way not related to battle and that it would be expected if she felt strange for having fun after so long without a break.

But it doesn't. Instead it feels completely normal.

Cheered by the realization, Kimball reaches for the deck of cards on the table and takes them out of the box while everyone watches. "Do you want to play a few games while we wait for everyone to show up?" she suggests.

Tucker looks at Simmons, who shrugs in response.

Taking that as a yes, Kimball starts to shuffle the cards. She then deals them all two cards each: one face down, the other up, then places the deck in front of her at the table.

"No way," Tucker protests, "Not blackjack. Simmons always counts the cards."

Simmons head shoots up from where he was peeking at his cards. "I can't help it! It's just something that happens!" he says, "You'd do it too if you were part fucking robot!"

Tucker's eyes light up. "Wait, there are fucking robots?" he says in excitement, "Where can I get me one of those?"

"How about something Mantis shaped?"

The three of them startle and turn toward the open doorway where Carolina stands, leaning against it with a grin on her face and watching them with those bright green eyes of hers. Kimball allows herself to be caught in them for only a second, then purposely distracts herself with Tucker's palpable dismay.

"Ugh, no thanks," Tucker says in disgust, "Even I'm not _that_ desperate."

Church pops into being at Carolina's side, a smirk in his voice that's obvious for everyone listening to hear. "But you do admit you're desperate."

"No!" Tucker says, "Shut up!"

While those two are busy bickering, Kimball takes the time to greet Carolina. "Hello, Agent Carolina," she says uncomfortably. She remembers the last time she felt this awkward around her and winces a little at the reminder.

"Hello, Kimball," Carolina responds.

'It's Vanessa,' Kimball wants to correct, but she bites her tongue to keep herself from saying it. She has to remember that they're not close, no matter how much she wishes that weren't true. But unfortunately, her silence goes on a hair's breadth too long, until suddenly her discomfort is easy to see.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Tucker turn her way. She can only imagine the look of confusion on his face as he sees how strangely she's acting. She hopes he's the only one who notices, but just in case she relaxes her shoulders, making sure her tension isn't on display.

"Uh, so anyway," Tucker cuts in suddenly. He looks at her, then frowns at Carolina, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet the entire time. "Who's up for some practice rounds while we wait for the others to show up?"

Kimball can't agree quickly enough.

 

* * *

 

Grif shows up halfway through their third hand, his arms laden with food and drinks. "Sorry," he says as he rounds the table and flops down in the chair next to Simmons, "but I wasn't gonna start this game without having plenty of snacks."

He dumps the treats on the table in front of him, looking immensely satisfied with himself, and only scowls when Tucker reaches for a bag of chips. "Hey!" Grif says sharply, "Get your own."

Kimball looks at him and the huge pile in front of him in complete and utter disbelief. "Are you honestly planning on eating all of those by yourself?" Then, when Grif looks back at her and nods, she turns to Simmons and asks, "Is he serious?"

Almost as one, everyone scoffs at her.

Grif gets a condescending look of his face. "Look, Kimball," he explains in a lofty tone, "I get that you're pretty new around here, but you should know one thing about me: I never joke when it comes to food."

Carolina rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something when they all get distracted by the sound of Washington walking through the door. "I couldn't find Caboose," he says. He sounds concerned at the alarming news, but as she looks around, nobody else in the group seems to share his worry.

"Relax, Wash," Carolina says with a laugh in her voice, "Church and I saw him on our way here. He said he was trying to teach Freckles how to play fetch."

Tucker turns to Kimball and makes a face. "Uh, just so you know," he says, "If you hear any screams and gunfire and shit, it's probably because of him."

Kimball closes her eyes.

"Don't worry," Carolina cuts in smoothly. Kimball opens her eyes and sees a pair of sympathetic green eyes staring her way. Her heart beats just a little bit faster. She tells herself it's because of surprise. "We convinced him to play at the shooting range."

"I hope you emptied it out first," Washington sighs.

Church snorts. "Who do you think we are?"

"Uh, I don't know," Grif replies, "The same guy that got killed by him ten years ago?"

"Yeah," Simmons says, "If you were so good at getting him not to shoot people, you probably should've started with yourself."

"Okay, a) I'm a robot, so he didn't kill me," Church says, "b) That was Alpha, not me. And c) Shut the fuck up, red. Nobody asked you."

Washington sighs and rubs his head. "Can we just...stop bickering for once and just play the game, already?"

Tucker brightens. "Yeah! Hey, wanna up the stakes?" he asks, smirking as he wiggles his eyebrows. His meaning would be clear even if didn't continue, but continue he does. "I haven't played strip poker in years!"

Church rocks his head from one side to the next, a holographic representation of rolling his eyes. "How did I know that would be the first thing out of your mouth?"

"I don't know, because I'm awesome?"

Church zooms over to Tucker's side, arms crossed as he looks at his friend. "Yeah, well no one wants to play that, okay dipshit?" he replies, "You're the only one who's enough of a horndog to think—"

"Actually," Carolina drawls, "That might not be such a bad idea."

Everyone but Washington turns to gape at her. He instead only looks pained, his fingers coming up to pinch at the bridge of his nose as if he fully expected this, but is disappointed in her nonetheless.

"Carolina," Church says, sounding betrayed, "You too?"

Carolina smirks. "I don't know why you're acting so surprised," she answers in amusement, "You know that all of us used to play it all the time."

"Yeah, but that was with—"

"With my friends," Carolina says firmly, "And my teammates." She waits for that to sink in for everyone, staying silent until even Washington seems more touched than aggrieved.

"Whoa!" Tucker says, "Did you just turn strip poker into a Hallmark Moment?" He looks at Kimball as if to ask her whether or not she's hearing this and shakes his head in disbelief.

Carolina ignores him with the ease of practice. "So that's three people," she says as she looks around at them, obviously counting Wash as one of them if his exasperated expression is any indication, "Anybody else?"

Simmons squeaks when they all turn to look at him. "I can't take my shirt off!" he replies in a high pitched voice.

"Yeah," Grif says defensively. Simmons gives him an odd, but very pleased look—one that quickly turns sour when Grif continues. "He'll blind us all with his pasty chest and no one wants to see that."

"Shut up, Grif!" Simmons hisses, "Nobody asked you!"

And clearly, just to be contrary up about it, Simmons quickly tells everyone he's in, glaring at Grif the whole while. Grif merely smirks at him in response, giving her the impression that Simmons was played.

"And you?" Carolina asks.

Kimball looks around to see all eyes on her. "I—" she begins uncertainly. She's not all that eager to get recreationally naked in front of people she has to work with everyday, but she is used to stripping down in mixed company due to the presence of co-ed showers. "I...yes, I suppose I'll play."

There's a light hidden behind Carolina's eyes.

Kimball does her best to ignore it.

And then they all settle down to play.

The first couple of hands is no big deal. Tucker wins the first round, so everyone else loses a sock, while Carolina wins the next two in a row, leaving almost everyone else sockless and sans a shirt.

The real problem comes with the advent of the fourth round, when things suddenly start taking a turn. With Kimball's win, the pants start coming off. Simmons is bright red when he gets rid of his, and Grif is as nonchalant as Simmons is anxious. Washington is almost cold-blooded when he's taking his own off, though Kimball notices a small flush across his freckled skin when Tucker hoots and starts humming music from porn.

And then it's Tucker's turn to get rid of his shirt.

Tucker undresses with all the confidence of someone who knows they have nothing to be ashamed of. He relishes everyone's eyes on him, radiating satisfaction bordering on smugness at the fact that no one can look away.

And if he's putting on a show, he's doing it for Washington.

His eyes never leave the other side of the table as he teasingly plays with the edge of his shirt, twisting it up to show a hint of skin in the form of lightly-muscled abs. They never stray, not once, even as his hand trails slowly up his body, hips rolling like a stripper performing his routine.

She finds herself overwhelmingly grateful for his steady gaze, because now he'll never see the small spark of interest on her face, nor her flushed skin as his hips mime the act of making love. There's nothing to keep her from watching as he slowly peels his shirt from his body.

"Ugh," Church says, "Be right back. I have to go delete that from my memory."

Before Tucker has time to come up with a response, Church has blinked in and out, but the offended look on Tucker’s face says enough. Tucker looks around at the others to share his indignation, but quickly stops on one person in particular.

Washington looks poleaxed.

The way he stares at Tucker can best be described as complete shock, eyes wider than she's ever seen them before. "I—what was that?" Washington asks in a very flat tone, not questioning him so much as demanding an answer.

Tucker wavers for a second, but then his chin rises up again as he puts on a cocky expression. "Just showing off for all the fine ladies in the room," he lies confidently. He winks at Kimball, who gives him a sympathetic smile in return.

Carolina's gaze shoots between them. "Next time, pick people who will enjoy the show," she says with narrowed eyes, unknowingly sending a spike through Tucker's heart.

"You know you want it," Tucker jokes, grinning at her wanly.

"Want it to stop, maybe," Carolina shoots back.

Kimball shakes her head. It's her turn to deal the hand, so she shuffles the cards while those two are bantering, all the while tuning them out as much as she can. When she can't put it off any longer, she hands the cards to Carolina to cut, who does so with a tap of the hand. Kimball then deals the cards to everyone at the table and looks down at her hand.

Nothing but a pair of twos.

She glances at everyone else for a sign of what they have. Simmons is easiest to read. He's unable to keep the smug smile off his face, which means he probably has something good. Grif is harder to read; he always has a slightly bored look on his face when he sees his cards, even when it turns out he has something good, but every now and then he'll slip and tap his fingers when he has something bad.

Tucker is a mixture of the two, glad when he has an extremely good hand, but hard to read if he has a maybe—and currently, he's blank faced and motionless, much like Washington, who rarely if ever lets something slip.

As for Carolina...well, she is impossible to read, but unfortunately for her, Church isn't. He's fidgeting by her side and circling her head over and over like a tiny bird until she finally tells him to stop.

Not that any of that information matters, of course. They're not playing the variation of strip poker where anyone who folds before a certain point is exempt from taking off their clothes. All that matters in this game is who wins the round. And currently, it looks like Kimball will lose.

Tucker slides two cards across the table, as do Grif and Carolina. Washington and Simmons only ask for one, while Kimball herself takes three. She gives them all replacement cards before finally looking at her own.

Still only a pair of twos.

She mentally shrugs and hopes that Simmons' hand isn't half as good as he thinks.

When it comes time for everyone to show their hands, Simmons is first to show his hand. "Three of a kind!" he bursts out triumphantly, throwing three jacks onto the table in complete and utter glee. Most of the table groans and throws their own cards down in disappointment, but only one man keeps hold of his.

As one, everyone turns to Washington.

"A flush," Washington explains calmly, putting the cards on the table in front of himself. His smile is tinged with a hint of relief, as he's the only male besides Tucker and Church who doesn't have to lose his underwear.

As for Kimball...she has to lose her pants.

Grif loses his immediately, and though he doesn't seem embarrassed in the least, she still notices the way he sits down as fast as he can, covering himself up with the table. She decides to bite the bullet before an incredibly pale Simmons has an anxiety attack, hands going to the button of her jeans before she notices people watching her with interest.

Grif, Washington and Church have the decency to pretend they aren't watching, while Simmons is genuinely too shy and too wrapped up in his own potential nudity to stare her way. But Tucker doesn't shares either of those problems. His eyes are like a hand against her body, teasing her with its touch. It trails over her still covered breasts and down to her thighs as she peels her pants off, skating toward her ass when she bends over to pick them up.

It's only fair, she tells herself as she licks her lips, because she stared at him just as long.

As for the other person staring at her with heavy eyes...well, Kimball doesn't want to think about that for all that long.

 

* * *

 

They keep on going until everyone has lost all their clothes and then they put them all on and play for money the second time around, which everyone is far more comfortable with. Kimball winds up losing a significant amount, but it's better than losing her clothes, she thinks, and it's far better than watching certain people lose their's.

Play goes into the early morning, waiting until everyone is too tired to focus on their hands, and then find their way to their own beds in two and threes. Kimball staggers into her's fully clothed, a fact she regrets when morning comes.

The next day they all have trouble looking at each other when they meet in the halls, and yet, Kimball feels closer to them than she has anybody else in years.

It's strange, but still, she thinks she likes it.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Tucker shows up at her office at 2100 hours armed with nothing but an insouciant grin and bottle of something that looks amber under her office lights. "Hey, Kimball," he says lazily, "What're you doing here so late?"

Kimball pauses with her hand hovering over a stack of papers. "I'm just finishing up my paperwork," she tells him, "What are you doing here at this hour?"

He holds the bottle out as if making a toast. "I'm here to share," he answers and then waves his hand, liquid sloshing over the side and dripping onto his fingers. To the delight and dismay of the part of her that watched him yesterday, he ducks his head down and licks them dry, lingering on them like he's putting on another show. And yet, when she looks into his eyes, she sees not mischief, but sadness.

The sight makes her frown. "Is everything alright?"

Tucker laughs bitterly. "Fuck, yeah! Why wouldn't it be?"

"You just seem...odd," Kimball says. In her concern, she forgets about the work she was doing, mentally pushing everything to the side in order to talk to him without anything between them. "Did something happen?"

"Nah, everything's cool, I just—"

"Tucker—"

"I asked Wash out," Tucker blurts out, "He turned me down."

She tries her best to keep an even expression, but she knows her surprise and sympathy must be written all over her face. "Perhaps you'd better sit down," she says, motioning to the chair in front of the desk.

Tucker looks grateful as he sits down, almost as though he thought she'd kick him out. "It's cool, though," he says, "I've been turned down before." He pauses and then rushes to explain. "I mean, not a lot or anything—I have women practically begging me to—"

"Tucker," she says again, adding a bit of firmness to her voice to calm him down. He relaxes slowly and slumps down in his chair, then takes a swig straight from the bottle. "How long have you been drinking?"

Tucker shrugs. "Just now?"

"Really?" she asks, surprised to hear it.

"Yeah," he answers, "I didn't feel like drinking alone."

So he came to her instead of all of his other friends. Shockingly, she's not more surprised by it; she knows he picked up on her attraction yesterday, and she knows he can tell when something is off. No doubt he sensed that she'd understand.

"Tell me what happened," she says evenly.

Tucker looks down at the bottle in his hands. "We were hanging out in his room again," he says, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze, "Like we always do. But then I asked him if he wanted to fuck and he said no."

Kimball closes her eyes in sympathy, head shaking slowly from side to side. It's terrible to hear the pain in his voice, but there's something familiar about it nonetheless. She's heard him sound like this before. It was when he was talking about his lost friends.

"But whatever," Tucker says out of nowhere, startling her with the faux dismissiveness in his voice. "It's cool. It just leaves me with more time for all those chicks who think banging a captain is hot."

Kimball ignores that in favor of getting to the point. "Tucker, I—you have my sympathy." She hesitates for a moment before continuing, "I understand just how you feel."

Tucker snorts. "No, you don’t. It's not like you and Carolina."

Kimball freezes. "E-Excuse me?" she barely manages to say.

Tucker shrugs as if it's obvious. "Y'know, because she's into you." And with that, he takes another sip of his drink, eyes looking off into the distance as though he didn't just drop a bombshell.

"You'll have to clarify that," Kimball chokes out.

Tucker does a double-take. "What, you mean you didn't notice?" he says, "Fuck, and I thought Wash was blind!" He shakes his head. "She was eyeing you up yesterday like you were a restaurant and she was planning on eating out for the night. Heh. Bow chicka bow wow."

Kimball can't take any more of this. With shaking hands, she pushes her chair back and stalks over to his side, dragging the bottle out his hands and gulping down the liquid inside.

Tucker gapes at her.

Finally, she places the bottle down on the desk and stands in front of it, hiding it from both their eyes. "Are you sure of this?" Kimball says, closing her eyes when Tucker nods. She doesn't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, Carolina is attracted to her.

On the other hand...

"I asked her out three weeks ago."

Tucker's eyes bug out unattractively. At the sight, Kimball has to resist the urge to take another sip from the bottle; it's nothing to do with Tucker himself, of course, but his blatant surprise isn't easy to take. Not when she was so surprised herself.

"She turned me down," she says as though it weren't obvious.

Tucker shakes his head. "No fucking way," he says adamantly, "She is totally into you. I've got a sixth sense for these sorts of things. I always know when two chicks wanna bone! And you two _definitely_ want to—"

"Tucker," she says, and her voice comes out more tired than she's felt in awhile, "While I appreciate the support, it doesn't matter. She still turned me down."

Tucker quiets at that, but he still looks lost, as though he just found out that everything he thought was real turned out to be a lie.

"It doesn't matter," she says as she turns her gaze to the floor. She smiles wryly at Tucker, who unconsciously seems to smile back. "I've also been turned down plenty of times before."

"Yeah, but..."

Kimball says nothing.

Tucker seems to think twice about whatever it was he was about to say. "Whatever. Their loss, right?" he says in a mockery of his usual bravado, "We're too hot for them anyway. We can get laid whenever we want."

And far be it for her to disagree, but…

Kimball's smile turns a little bit rueful. "There are rules for who I can and can't sleep with," she tells him, "And almost everybody here is off-limits."

Tucker looks at her as though she said something tragic. "Seriously?" he says, "You pay attention to all that bullshit?" At her nod, he continues, "But that means you can only bang...Doyle."

They stare at each other and shudder as one.

"Still," Tucker says when they recover, "You know nobody cares about that, right? No one's gonna freak out if you suddenly decide to get your freak on. Hell, someone out there is probably just waiting for you to give a sign."

That's what she thought about Carolina.

The thought must be written all over her, because Tucker's face falls when he meets her eyes, his words trailing off into the air. After a few seconds he coughs and shifts a little in his seat, looking as sullen as it's possible for a human to look.

"This is pathetic," he grumbles under his breath, "We're way too attractive to be—"

"Pining?" she suggests when he doesn't continue.

Tucker scoffs. "No fucking way," he says with a scowl, "I was gonna say we're way too fucking hot to be acting like we can't get laid by anyone else."

"That's the second time you've said that," Kimball notes.

"What, that we're hot?" Tucker asks, "Yeah, that's because it's true. We're hot as fuck, dude. Anyone would be lucky to get a piece of us."

Kimball looks down at her plain black t-shirt and even plainer khaki pants, trying to see what he sees. She's not like Carolina, who can manage to look feminine in full body armor while pistol-whipping the enemy. She can barely make herself look feminine in her civilian clothes. And, to be honest, that's how she's always preferred things ever since she learned the sorry fact that it makes it easier for people to take her seriously—something desperately needed for the General of the New Republic.

Tucker shakes his head when she looks at him skeptically. "I saw you yesterday," he points out before she can protest. "You could crush a man's face with your thighs. Or no, wait. A woman's, I guess."

"I only _prefer_ women," she corrects, "I have no problem sleeping with men."

Tucker suddenly goes still, a hint of something indefinable flitting behind his eyes and disappearing in the span of a blink. "Great," he says casually, "That should double your chances."

"My chances?"

"Yeah," Tucker says. He makes a rude gesture with his fingers, miming the act of having sex. "You know, your _chances_."

"I know what you meant," she says in frustration, "I just don't know why you're saying it. I already told you there aren't many people for me to—"

"And I already told you that's bullshit."

"The chain of command is—"

"Bullshit," Tucker singsongs.

Kimball takes a deep breath to rid herself of her temper. "The chain of command," she repeats through gritted teeth, "is very important. I can't have anyone making accusations of favoritism."

"So sleep with someone like Carolina," he suggests, "Someone who isn't really part of your army, even if they're fighting the same people as you are. Someone who' s only here because they made a deal with you, not because they wanted to be."

"Tucker," she asks carefully, "Are you talking about yourself?"

Tucker freezes, looking caught out. "Uh, no?" he very clearly lies. He backs up out of her personal space, avoiding her eyes all the while. "I was just, uh...I was just...oh, fuck it. Yeah, I totally was. So what?"

"So what?" she exclaims, "You're a Captain in my army!"

Tucker scoffs. "Yeah, but I mean, not really, right?" he points out, his explanation as nonsensical as his suggestion. "I only joined so we could get Wash and the others back, remember? And now they're back."

And that's true, but…

"Tucker, even if I wanted to—"

Even if he is one of the few friends she currently has. Even if she remembers the way he looked at her yesterday when she was undressing. Even if she remembers the familiar twist in her stomach when he was putting on his show…

Tucker rises to his feet and saunters toward her, a swagger to his step that wasn't there when he first came into her office. "C'mon, Kimball. Let yourself a little fun for once," he teases as he moves closer to her, his voice lowering in an overly seductive murmur that somehow is more effective than it is ridiculous.

Tucker’s gaze moves across her body like a physical touch, so much like yesterday that it quickens her pulse. For the briefest moment, she allows herself to believe it's possible. For the briefest moment, she allows herself to pretend. And as he comes closer to her with every step, she finally allows herself to give in.

She has only a second to breathe in the sweet smell of alcohol on his breath before she's tasting it on his lips, tongues moving against each other as they opened to each other immediately. They kiss until she's dizzy with it and then they kiss some more, lips meeting again and again, only pausing to catch their breath.

When they finally tear their lips apart, neither move away, and Tucker's head comes down to bury itself in her neck, dealing small kisses down its length. Kimball's hands clench around the edge of the desk behind her and she uses it to hold herself up, settling more of her weight on it to steady her suddenly wobbly legs.

"You're so fucking hot," he murmurs, breathing hot and heavy into her ear. It ignites something in her, a pulse of pleasure that rips through her feverish mind until it visualizes somebody else in her arms.

"Holy shit," Tucker mutters, "Holy shit, Kimball, you are so--"

She moans as he sucks the shell of her ear into his mouth, and as one they freeze where they stand, Kimball with her thighs spread wide and Tucker with his mouth still touching her skin.

"Tucker," she begins.

It's like her words break the spell that's over them. Tucker practically leaps away from her, his hands moving nervously over his thighs and drawing attention to the bulge between them. She licks her lips and hears him make a low sound, a groan that sounds like a man dying.

"Tucker, I-"

"Tell me what you want Carolina to do," he blurts out.

Her heart pounds frantically in her chest. It feels like they're on the edge of a precipice, where one wrong step could mean their doom. But she wants to jump, she wants to fall, she wants to pretend that it won't hurt when she hits the ground.

She swallows hard. "Her mouth—"

Tucker drops to his knees before she can finish her sentence. With shaking hands, he helps strip her of her pants and underwear, tugging them off her until she stands there bared to the world.

His eyes are dark as they look at her, and his brown hair is nothing like fire engine red but that doesn't matter when she closes her eyes. With her eyes shut, all she has to do is feel. Feel hands (larger than she wants, but still strong) and lips (wider and not as soft as she's dreamed) and tongue (pressing against her so sweet) pushing her toward the edge until she's falling into something wonderful.

Afterward, she apologizes for calling the wrong name.

Tucker crawls up and flops into the chair in front of the desk, casually wiping his mouth and chin as she gets dressed again. "Nah, it's cool," he says. "If you were going down on me, I'd probably be pretending you were Wash."

The ease with which he says such things wipes away at least some of her guilt. What remains can't easily be ignored, not with the taste of her still in his mouth. "Be that as it may, it was incredibly rude—"

Tucker smirks and motions to his lap. "I know a way you can make it up to me."

Her eyes flicker downward, going wide at the sight of him. She knows he expects her to bend her knee and return the favor, but despite what just happened, she can't say she's prepared for doing that at all.

She hesitates. "Tucker--Lavernius," she corrects herself, "I don't think I can..."

"It's cool," Tucker says again, "I'll totally take a handjob too." He unzips his pants slowly, then peels them off, letting them drop to the floor. Quickly, his makes sure his shirt follows, then palms himself through his boxer-briefs until he's standing proudly at attention.

Bizarrely, she thinks: you're finally leading by example.

Tucker grins as though he can read her mind. "Too bad you can't fuck me like he would, though," he says with a sly look, "I haven't done that since Sister."

Kimball recoils. "Sister?"

"Yeah, wh--wait, no," Tucker says quickly, "No, nonono. Grif's sister, not mine. She's the one who fucked me, not--"

Kimball holds a hand up to halt his words. "Say no more. I understand."

He relaxes slowly, shoulders slumping down in relief. "Cool," he says, "Because I know I can be kind of—"

"Perverse?" she suggests.

"Well, I was gonna say kinky, but sure," he says with a shrug, "I can be a little perverted too, I guess." He makes a face, nose scrunching up in disgust. "But I'm not that perverted, you know?"

"I know," she says honestly, "and I never should have thought you were. You've never given me reason to doubt your morals."

"It's cool," Tucker says again, but he looks pleased with her response nonetheless, one hand coming up to rub sheepishly against his dreads.

"As for your request..."

"What request?" Tucker asks, "Oh, you mean the fucking thing? Don't worry about it. I didn't exactly expect you to have a strap-on in your closet."

Kimball feels herself turn pink. "Well..."

Tucker sits straight up in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"The last few years have been very lonely," she says stiffly, "And while I've had no reason for a strap on, I do have other paraphernalia that will suffice."

And with no hint of humor coming before, Tucker bursts out laughing, burying his head in his hands while his shoulders shake and shake and shake. "H-Holy shit," he gasps, "Was that Kimball speak for, 'I have a dildo?'"

"Vanessa," she corrects, cheeks still burning, "And yes, amongst other things."

Tucker grins, teeth flashing a beautiful white against his skin. "Then we should get back to your room and get this party started," he says as he holds out a hand for her to take.

She allows him to help her to her feet, swallowing the embarrassment that suddenly rises up as she stands before him half-naked. It makes no sense considering how intimate they just were, but Kimball can't help but flush nonetheless.

Tucker watches in fascination.

"Wow, you really go red all over, huh?" he says. He whistles, looking somewhat impressed, his eyes trailing down her body in open appreciation. His hand twitches and then reaches out for a moment, grazing her thigh with the tip of his fingers.

They're gone just as she begins to get used to them.

She clears her throat. "We should go."

Tucker smirks and shakes his head, then motions to his erect cock. "Yeah, I'm gonna wait around here until, y'know..."

"I understand," she tells him. She bends down to pick her clothes off the floor and quickly redresses herself, ignoring his eyes on her all the while, then pausing as she considers something. "Do you know where my room is?"

Tucker shrugs. "It's not too far from mine, right?"

"Right," she says. All of her officers are close together. Felix once told her how dangerous that was, how easy it would be for someone to sneak in and bomb the place out from under them, killing all the high ranking people in one sitting.

She should've seen it for the threat it was.

"Hey," Tucker says, causing her to startle. He touches her shoulder companionably, comforting her with his touch. "You're not allowed to be sad when you're about to bang someone as fine as me."

Kimball blinks rapidly and pushes away all the dark thoughts. He's right. That's not what this night is about. This night is about not being lonely. It's about friendship and not going another night longing for someone who'll never be there.

"You're...yes," she says, blinking off those thoughts, "You should meet me in my bedroom in about ten minutes." She hesitates before speaking again. "Try to be...subtle. Or as subtle as you can be."

There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach when all she gets is a single thumbs up.

Regardless, there's nothing she can do for it right now besides call it off, so Kimball gives him a terse nod before making her way out the room, checking her clothing to make sure that everything's in place before she exits the room entirely.

The walk back to her room takes forever. Every person she passes in the hall and every light shining through the cracks in people's doors reminds her of how easily this could all fall apart. It's a relief when she finally gets there, and she shuts the door with a firmness that doesn't betray her nerves.

To steady herself, she busies herself with practicalities, tidying up the few places that need tidying before making her way to the footlocker at the foot of the bed. She kneels before it and opens it up, searching for her secret collection hidden inside.

And there she finds it. Her favorite one. Nine inches from head to base and flesh colored with a medium brown that very nearly matches her skin. She follows the deep ridges with the tip of her finger, remembering fondly the last time she used it on somebody else.

She's so caught up in her memories that she almost misses the knocking at her door. It's barely there (so he does know how to be subtle) and she almost misses the sound of it, caught up as she is in her own nervous thoughts.

As fast as she can, she rushes to the door, opening it and hurrying him inside in order to lessen the chances that anyone will see him. "Whoa!" Tucker says with a smirk, "You're a little eager, huh? That's cool. I'm good at going fast."

She rolls her eyes as she shuts the door. She doesn't want any of the troops to catch wind of what's going on here, even if it is no one's business but their own. "Most men wouldn't admit to that," she points out drily.

"What?" Tucker says, then seems to realize what he just said, "Hey, I can last as long as I want, okay?" He scowls at her until she nods her agreement. "I just go fast if the chick wants me to."

"I believe you."

Tucker looks at her suspiciously, but she doesn't bat an eye. Instead, she places the dildo onto the bed, noting how Tucker notices it with interest, eyeing it almost hungrily as though he just can't wait to have it in him.

But instead of getting the show on the road, they just turn to look at each other awkwardly.

"So, how do we do this?" Tucker asks after a moment or two has gone by, "Do I just get on the bed and bend over or what?"

She rubs her neck. "I suppose we should start with undressing."

Tucker nods.

Then they look at each other yet again, each one waiting for the other to start. Kimball finally decides to take the leap—it's nothing he hasn't seen before, after all—but as her fingers go to the bottom of her shirt, Tucker surprisingly interrupts her.

"No, wait," Tucker blurts out.

She pauses with her hand on her top and looks at him in confusion. "You'd rather I stay clothed?" she asks, both eyebrows rising in disbelief. It's not that she's opposed, exactly, but she is fairly surprised by the news. It doesn't seem like something Tucker would want.

"No, just—"

His eyes flicker over her, trailing down her with hungry eyes, and as he takes a few steps forward, his hand comes out to tease against the bottom of her t-shirt, edging under the material to rest on her hip.

"You want to do it for me," she realizes.

"Yeah," he says as though it's obvious. He looks at her admiringly, his eyes like a touch against burning skin. "Who wouldn't?"

Her flush deepens under his gaze. It's obvious that he means what he says—that he can't imagine someone who wouldn't want her—but to hear it out loud does something strange to her. Something that has her body moving in closer until her breasts are pressing against his chest and their hips are locked in tight together.

She raises her arms long enough for him to divest her of her shirt, skin tingling at the barely there touch of his fingers running up her sides, stealing her breath away in a way that a harder touch could never manage. He skims over her breasts before moving down to her pants, arms circling around to her back before sneaking inside to massage her ass, using the chance to tug their hips against each other yet again.

Kimball rocks against him, reveling in the feeling of all those hard lines brushing up against her. But before she can reach out and feel them for herself, Tucker slips to his knees and unbuttons her pants, sliding them down her legs in one smooth motion.

He presses his face against her, his hot breath making her shiver as she fights the urge to wrap her hands in his dreadlocks and force his mouth to press against her harder. Try as she might, though, she can't resist the movement of her hips against his lips.

Tucker laughs against her, a low chuckle sounding out that makes her shiver yet again. "You gonna take off your pants or what, Kimball?" he asks teasingly. He licks her through her underwear and steadies her as her hips jerk again.

Kimball clumsily does as he says. He helps her step out one foot at a time, then stands again, moving away from where she wants him most. To her embarrassment, she makes a low sound of disapproval, hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders and draw him closer.

His own hands glide up her waist on either side, long fingers spanning the width of her hips. They play with her, slipping up to her plain black sports bra and tracing it lightly with his nails, then hooking his thumb in the material and tugging it down, grazing the hard nub as he bends his head and licks the sensitive skin he finds there. His tongue flickers over her, his hot mouth presses against her, his lips wrap around her until she gives in and moans his name into the air.

" _Tucker...Tucker..._ "

And then up comes his other hand, sliding across her belly and playing along the top of her panties, teasing without touching her intimately.

Her breath hitches when they finally slip inside.

"This how you want it?" he whispers against her chest, hissing when she rocks into his hand. He works her slowly, fingers rubbing small circles against her clit while his tongue trails a path up her body, moving his busy mouth to her clavicle.

She stretches her neck when Tucker nips at it, eyes fluttering closed as he moves to muffle her moans with his mouth, licking into hers like he's been dying to kiss her for the longest time and is desperate to make up for the lost time.

And all the while, his fingers never stop moving.

She gasps her orgasm into his mouth, and when they finally tear their lips away from each other, she's still shaking in his arms, trembling and completely unable to stop. Tucker holds her through it all, holding her tight to him, and as she becomes more aware of the arms wrapped around her, she thinks of how long it's been since she was touched that way. How long it's been since she was hugged.

In a way, she thinks she missed it just as much as the sex.

"Kimball," Tucker says hoarsely, "I will hug you so fucking much if you just fuck me now." His hair rubs against the side of her face when he moves and it's only then, listening to the desperation in his voice, that she realizes that she's come twice and him not at all.

Kimball swallows hard. "Get on the bed."

Tucker immediately scrambles to agree, throwing his clothes off and flinging them to the side before climbing on with his hands and knees. He waits for her impatiently in the middle of the bed, sitting before her with eager eyes and a hard cock; the sight of him so damn desirable that she staggers forward without realizing she's doing it. It's only once she stands before him that she even knows what has happened.

She takes a moment to look at him in a way she hasn't since all this started. He's beautiful, in a way, though that's not typically a word she ascribes to men. But it's true all the same, with his long lashes and dark, hooded eyes, strong thighs and wild look on his face, he looks like a daydream come to life on her bed.

Unlike a daydream, he won't disappear when she tries to touch.

Kimball reaches out with steady hands and threads her fingers through his long hair, tugging on it in a way that she hopes will make him gasp and getting a wolfish grin in response. "It's cool," he says when she looks at him with a question in her eyes, "I don't mind it a little rough."

Heat flashes in her belly, surprising her with its intensity, and she gets an image in her head that's so damn visceral that it almost takes Kimball's breath away.

"On your hands and knees," she orders him. Tucker's eyebrows fly up, but he's quick to do as she asks, getting out of his kneeling position without a fuss as though he's willing to let this go anywhere she wants to take it.

Which is good, because all she wants is to treat him like he did her.

"Oh, fuck! Yeah, I almost forgot," Tucker says suddenly. He twists his head around to look at her, then nods at the floor where his clothes were dropped. "I brought lube and condoms and shit in case you didn't have any."

"Good planning," she says in approval.

Tucker preens.

Kimball picks his jeans up on her way to his side, rummaging through his pockets for the things he said he brought. The lube and condoms go beside him on the bed, the jeans beside him on the floor. Kimball, in turn, sits herself at his back, meeting Tucker's eyes when he twists around to look at her.

"How do you like it?" she echoes.

Tucker looks at her seriously. "Start off with two."

Kimball nods, but doesn't reach for the lube just yet. Instead, she makes time to explore the fields and plains of his body in a way she hasn't since they started. With wandering hands she spreads her fingers across his thighs, stroking along the backs of them, lightly touching him until he shivers and gasps.

"I thought—" Tucker croaks. He has to clear his throat and try again. "I thought you were gonna fuck me, not feel me up."

Kimball smiles and ducks down to nip at his left cheek, soothing the bite with her tongue after she is done. "I can do both," she assures him, bringing her hands up to massage his ass. From her kiss, she gets a stroke of inspiration, and she bends her head even further, hands coming up to spread his cheeks.

Tucker jolts with a startled moan when her tongue first makes contact, doing a full body shudder in response. "Is this good?" she asks when he doesn't respond, "Or would you rather I start preparing you?"

"No—fuck, do it again," Tucker blurts out.

She does as he wishes, spreading her tongue flat as she licks him again and again. She has to hold his hips still when he spasms underneath her and the act sends a surge of want through her. She likes the act of holding someone down and having them completely at her mercy.

"Shit," Tucker says in awe, "You'll give me a rimjob, but you won't suck my dick? Your priorities are fucking weird."

Kimball pauses. He obviously doesn't mean it as a criticism, she notices, which means she doesn't have to explain how much things have changed in only half an hour. "Of the two," she says carefully, "Only one of them hurts my jaw."

"Yeah, but only one of them gets people to fuck your face."

"Oh?"

Kimball rolls her tongue up and presses inside, trying to hold back on her grin at his sudden cry and the way he pushes back into her mouth. She fucks him like that, stabbing into him in short, quick bursts, reveling in the way his muscles spasm as he struggles not to move.

"It's—fuck," Tucker gasps, "It's not the same."

While he's busy trying to think up a defense, Kimball's hands move away from his backside and find the bottle of lube, flicking the cap off in order to coat her fingers. "Hold yourself open," she tells him as she does, and even though he can't see what she's doing, he's still quick to obey her.

At the first touch of her fingers, Tucker inhales sharply, body tensing up in preparation for the push inside. She soothes him with her touch, stroking his hip as she rubs circles around his hole, waiting until he's calmed and relaxed enough for her to push inside.

It's tight with two fingers, but Tucker doesn't seem to care, because he hisses in pleasure and tries to push back against them, taking it too fast for her own liking. "Stop," she orders, as she takes her fingers out, "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Kimball," he says with a little whine, "It’s cool. Just fuck me."

She frowns and returns her fingers to where they were, taking him at his word when she pushes inside and crooks her fingers just so in a way that makes him grunt.

"Yeah," he breathes, "Like that."

She works him until he's breathless with it, waiting until his hips are shoving back into her touch like they're desperate for it to finally reach for her dildo.

When she gets it lubed up, she teases it over his hole without entering, rubbing the dildo back and forth until Tucker is squirming where he kneels. He pushes back into the contact, silently begging for more, but she backs up before he can get what he wants, moving it away until his hips slow and finally stop moving.

"Kimball," he groans.

"Vanessa," she corrects, punctuating with another pass across. Tucker's hands scramble at her sheets, clutching them tight in his fisted hands as he struggles not to move. "Say it.”

She presses the tip against his hole and waits.

Tucker breaks all at once, hips rutting backward yet again and forcing her to back away. "Vanessa, Vanessa," he chants, "Please fuck me. _Please_."

He collapses down, head bowing between his forearms as he sobs her name, one hand coming up to work his cock, not stroking it so much as jerking off. With steady hands, she brings the dildo up again, pressing against him and then pushing the tip inside, touching his hip when he tenses up before pushing back.

She eases him into it with small, even thrusts, gentling the touch with a rhythm that's slow and smooth and designed to turn him into a puddle on the bed.

"Not like that," he says through gritted teeth. Her hand pauses mid-stroke and Tucker makes a sound that comes from deep within his chest. "Fuck, do it like...do it like he would."

"I don't know what that means," Kimball admits.

She doesn't know Washington well enough to know what he's like. She doesn't know if he'd be playful or all business, rough or gentle, warm and considerate or cold and selfish. She doesn't know if he would take the time to wreck Tucker or go fast and hard, pounding into him like there's no tomorrow.

She just doesn't know.

But she knows he doesn't want it the way she's doing it now, so Kimball decides to pick up the pace and do something that she's wanted to do ever since they mentioned strap-ons earlier: she decides to fuck him, and fuck him hard.

Her next stroke comes quicker than the ones before, and rougher, too, slamming into him like a punishment and forcing a strangled gasp out of him. "Fuck," he whispers, sounding a bit stunned. "Do that again."

Without making him wait for it, she does it again, thrusting into him as though she's been waiting for the opportunity and can barely contain her desire to have him. For the next few minutes, Kimball runs her palm over his backside with one hand, the other working relentlessly to push Tucker to the brink, pounding into him with a steady rhythm that has him keening into the air.

"Be quiet," she commands urgently, "Someone will hear."

At first, she doesn't think he hears her, but then Tucker nods and bites down hard on his forearm, muffling his cries with his skin. His hips never stop their ceaseless rocking, pushing back into her thrusts with a wild abandon that shows how close he is to the edge.

She loses track of time after that, lost in the rhythm and the motion of her hand, deaf to anything but the muffled moans, blind to anything but his dark brown skin and the beads of sweat that pool in the small of his back.

He breaks underneath her hands and she enjoys every second of it.

For a few short moments she can forget Carolina. Forget her dancer's grace and soldier's strength. Forget the rare laugh in her voice and the way her lips curl up when she's happy. Forget that Kimball has never felt those muscles move against her touch. Forget that she has never pressed her lips to the corner of that smile. Forget that Carolina is not hers, will likely never be hers, will never—

"I can hear you thinking," Tucker grumbles into her pillow, "You're ruining the afterglow."

He twists around lethargically until he's lying on his back and off of the wet spot, one hand coming up with a fistful of sheet and wiping his belly down until it's clean. She frowns at that, but gives it up as a lost cause since her sheets are already messed up enough.

"I can't help it," Kimball mutters. She smiles then, just a little, allowing some of her amusement through. "Some of us aren't used to shutting that down."

"Oh, ha fucking ha. You're so funny," Tucker replies, and he would seem genuinely annoyed if it weren't for the fact that he's got a grin on his face you could see for miles, so delighted by what has occurred tonight that he can't help but play along with her.

Kimball allows herself to enjoy the moment. She closes her eyes and falls back onto the bed, resting head to feet with Tucker like best friends at a sleepover. As they breathe in concert with each other, skin brushing all along one side, Kimball thinks to herself that she hasn't felt this comfortable—this relaxed in years.

But like all good things, it has to come to an end.

"Frankly," she says, "I'm surprised you're still here."

"I know, right? I'm usually more of a love 'em and leave 'em kinda guy," Tucker says as he stares up at the ceiling, "But fuck it, I'm too lazy to move."

"Well, unfortunately, you'll have to," Kimball says. She leans down to grab his underwear and throws it at his bare chest. "I can't have the troops talking if they see you exiting my quarters in the morning. They already disrespect me enough."

Tucker raises his head and frowns. "Who does?"

"The Federal Army," she explains, remembering her most recent interaction with them. A pair of them whispering in the mess hall, calling her names that should've gotten them put on cleaning duty for the month. She tried to reprimand them, but Doyle overruled her, insisting that her punishment did not fit the crime.

Tucker's frown turns into a look of distaste. "Ugh, I hate those guys," he says, as he sits back up and starts slipping into his boxers. "I know Wash thinks we should all be getting along or whatever, but those guys act like assholes sometimes."

She looks at him sharply. "Have they been disrespecting you as well?"

"Nah," Tucker denies, "they've just been fucking with Palomo, Jensen and Matthews." He waves it off as though it were nothing, but his eyes are narrowed at the mere thought of what happened. He's clearly more irritated than he seems.

Kimball's so appalled that she sits up straight. "How so?" she demands. If her troops are being mistreated in any way, even Doyle won't be able to stop her wrath.

Tucker does a double take at the thread of anger in her voice. "Nothing big," he's quick to inform her. "Just some pranks and stuff. You know, the kind of bullshit people get up to when they're bored out of their mind."

"Sounds like they need more to do," she says. Her mind races in search of a way to get back at them, debating the merits of privy duty versus extra training sessions with Washington.

Tucker snorts. "You aren't gonna hear me arguing."

"Good. Then tell me if it happens again," Kimball tells him, "so that I can deal with it personally."

Tucker shrugs, but he agrees readily enough. "Tell me if you need any help," he says instead of arguing. "Or, fuck, just tell me anyway so I can be there when you make them cry."

Kimball's lips quirk up. She doubts it'll come to that, but still, she appreciates the thought nonetheless. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind," she says fondly. It's nice to have someone who will back her up when it comes to matters such as these. It's been too long since she had somebody like that.

"Anyway, I guess I'll get out of your face now," Tucker says. He frowns down at the floor until he finds his jeans, half hidden underneath the bed. He puts them on quickly and reaches for his shirt, pulling it on without even noticing how Kimball is watching his every move.

The sight of him getting ready to leave makes Kimball want to be reckless.

"Tucker," she blurts out.

Tucker looks up in surprise. "Yeah?"

Stay, she wants to say. Stay for the night. Stay long enough that we can talk a little longer. Stay long enough for us to touch a little more. Stay long enough to make me forget Carolina's name, because you might be the only one in this army who could.

Kimball smiles. "This was one of your better ideas."

Tucker gives her that familiar shit-eating grin that she's beginning to like. "I get 'em sometimes," he replies. He hesitates for a moment, some strange emotion passing over him that Kimball doesn't understand until he speaks up again in casual voice. "Hey, we should do this again sometime."

"I'd like that," Kimball says.

Relief flits over Tucker's face before it's quickly wiped away. "Hey," he says, suddenly smirking at her in a way that makes it clear that he's about to say something Tuckerish, "Maybe next time, I could fuck you."

And while the surge of pleasure that rushes through is very much familiar to her, the intensity of the emotion is something new. Maybe it's because of how long it's been since she's done anything like this. Maybe it's because she desperately needs the comfort of a friend. Maybe it's just because of Tucker himself.

Regardless of the reason, it's more than anything Kimball has ever felt before, and she has only one thing left to say to him before they part ways.

"Meet me here tomorrow at twelve."

 


End file.
